


A positive lead

by DeVereWinterton



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Episode: s03e06 Death at the Grand, F/M, First Time, Horizontal tango, Look I wrote smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Waltzing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 23:36:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15617523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeVereWinterton/pseuds/DeVereWinterton
Summary: “Mother blamed it all on his dancing, claimed that one whirl in his arms forced all reason from her head.”“A good waltz can do that.”





	A positive lead

**Author's Note:**

> Lord knows they have been dancing around one another for quite some time now… Time for the curtain to drop so these two can finally have some alone time, I say. They can even do away with taking a bow, for all I care, if that means they'll just get to the shagnanigans already! 
> 
> Many thanks to my beta 221A_brina, who is wonderful!

 

_‘Tanzt, tanzt, sonst sind wir verloren…’_

\- Pina Bausch

 

As the music came to a serene end, so did the movements of their feet. The three-quarter measure that had accompanied their one-two-three steps softly faded into a charged silence. However, the waltz that defined who they were as partners, the waltz they had begun almost a year ago - some of the steps familiar but the outcome still uncertain - was very much ongoing and was about to sweep Phryne off of her feet.

Jack’s movements had been fluid, almost graceful, although his stiff posture belied his noble intentions, his natural reticence, and his almost infuriatingly frustrating composure of self-restraint. He’d pushed her, but never too far, whereas she had attempted to take the lead several times, always to be reeled in by him, pulled back into his embrace; the closeness of their bodies never inappropriate, but almost so.

As the dance had progressed, she could feel the shift in energy, his change in mood as his seriousness made room for something more sensual, and heady. The atmosphere around them had quickly become quite charged as his fingers gripped hers a little more tightly than strictly necessary, her hand clutching the one he’d splayed just below her breast. She’d found herself wishing with the next breath, he would move it upwards and pinch her pert nipple.

They ended up standing in the middle of the otherwise empty room, the echo of their final steps still almost palpable, ricocheting off the dark stained wood panelling, the faded wallpaper, and the high-vaulted ceiling. The hustle and bustle of the hotel’s daily life in the next room went by unnoticed by either of them. 

No sound, no matter how loud, would be able to drown out the incessant and rapid beating of her heart anyway. With a start she realised that Jack had been entirely accurate about the effects of a good waltz; all reason _had_ been forced from her head. But not because of this - the physical execution of its traditional steps and combination of set motions. It was because of the long waltz between them - the elaborate choreography that had them circling one another, moving in closer before turning away, twisting and pulling, swaying and lingering - that she felt she was about to lose her mind.

The tension between them was tangible.

_This man._

This impossible, endearing, noble and infuriatingly wonderful man.

She could almost taste his desire on her tongue as she raised her eyes to his from where they had been fixed on the knot of his divine, and rather boldly patterned tie. He wore the blue suit she had grown especially fond of, the colour of which was quite possibly as deep as the Pacific Ocean. She had been so focused on the feel of his body - his lean frame so close to her own that she could feel his heat almost burning her skin, her hand in his; his large palm resting gently on her slender midriff, guiding her without forcing - that just the thought of looking into his eyes for another second was nigh on overwhelming.

She found she was experiencing difficulty in the ability to string a coherent thought together and had to fight the impulse to ravish him where he stood.

Her hand was still in his, his large fingers cradling hers in an intimate embrace, their thumbs intertwined. She envied that thumb, longed to embrace Jack’s body with her own, to cradle his head against her naked breast and to entwine their damp, sated bodies until the early hours of the morning. She wanted him to make love to her, slow and close, until all reason would abandon her again.

And again.

She wanted that _now_.

Whether unconsciously or inadvertently, her thumb carefully brushed against his. She wouldn't have been aware of the tiny movement if it hadn't been for the slight quiver of his lips and shuddering intake of breath; she found herself completely captivated by his gaze.

His ever changing eyes were upon hers, a look of wonder in them, as though seeing her for the very first time - yet the comfort of familiarity softened his gaze, eased his demeanor. However, his pupils were slightly dilated - betraying his desire for her - and she was mesmerised by this unexpected development.

His breathing was shallow, yet his chest was heaving.

The hand on her side tightened imperceptibly, as though he was afraid of being too forward, too bold.

She tried to reassure him by rubbing her thumb against his. The tension in his hand released, and she felt the firm answering stroke of his in return.

Propriety demanded she speak, if only to stop from walking two ill-considered steps in front of him yet again and making an unanticipated move. If she was going to take this leap, she wanted him to catch her. However, she would prefer him to take the jump into the unknown with her, at her side.

“You have a very positive lead, Inspector,” she purred at him. Though she couldn't help the flirtatious lilt in her voice due to his close proximity, she was honest in her appreciation of his dancing skills.

“Likewise, Miss Fisher,” he quipped dryly in his low rumble, the syllables stroking along her skin like featherlight touches as he spoke.

She raised a delicate eyebrow, the almost sarcastic arch of her brow a sharp contrast to the smug smirk pulling at her lips at his acknowledgement of their equality.

“Though I must admit I wouldn't have pegged you for such a… _skilled_ dancer, Jack,” she confessed, her tone sincere, her intentions entirely candid. She smoothed down one lapel with the hand that had been resting on his broad, reliable shoulder, the woollen texture of his jacket smooth against her skin. “I stand corrected.”

“Skills you may wish to compare to those of an English prince, perhaps?” he challenged, his mouth set in a straight line. There was no denying the cheeky twinkle in his eye.

“Don't push your luck, Inspector,” she admonished, playing with the knot of his tie. “Although it does make me wonder…” she trailed off.

“About?” His voice cracked as she teased the skin right above his collar with a single fingernail. He swallowed, and her gaze was immediately drawn to the tantalising bobbing of his Adam's apple, as he licked his lips in quiet anticipation.

Despite his obvious reservations about having this conversation in such a public space, where anyone could walk in at any given moment (let alone having this conversation at all) he couldn’t stop the hand on her midriff from wandering down her back, pulling her infinitesimally closer. ~~~~

“Other skills…” She leaned in, breathing him in, and spoke directly into his ear in a low, sultry voice that she hoped would entice him. She felt him shiver with barely suppressed arousal, causing her to smile against his cheek. “That might involve…” She pressed a soft and deceitfully innocent kiss on his sharp jawline as she cupped his jaw. “The perfect synchronisation…” She clasped her hands behind his neck, standing toe to toe with him, the olive silk of her dress rustling against his jacket. Her nipples, pebbled with arousal, brushed against the front of his waistcoat as she revelled in the fact that he hadn’t moved away from her yet.

His eyes were unreadable.

“Of two moving bodies,” she finished, the final words of her sentence a mere whisper against his moistened lips.

His lips caught hers in a searing kiss before she could take her next breath. He was almost clumsy with want, desire taking over, but instead of annoyance, she felt a warmth blossoming in her chest at his obvious need, at the abandonment of his own reason. The hand that had previously held hers was suddenly in her jet black hair, cradling her head while the other pulled her body flush against his, crushing her breasts against his chest. The unmistakable beginnings of his arousal nudged against her stomach and she pressed herself even more firmly against him. Someone groaned. Though she couldn’t be sure who made the sound, it was enough for Jack to, unfortunately, come to his senses, suddenly tearing his lips away from hers. He made to step away, but she was reluctant to let go of him yet and simply held him to her, using the hands behind his neck for leverage.

She felt utterly bereft and rather breathless.

His fingers almost disbelievingly and fleetingly touched his own lips, as if uncertain if the previous events had actually occurred in real life.

“Miss Fisher… Phryne. I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me, but I--” he stammered, placing his hands on her outstretched arms, no doubt in an attempt to remove them from his person and to save himself any further presumed embarrassment.

“Jack,” she effectively silenced him with a finger pressed to his kiss swollen lips. “Don't be silly,” she chided him with a sweet smile, gently brushing her mouth against his before kissing him again.

This time neither held back. Their kiss quickly turned into a frenzy; lips met over and over again as teeth clashed, until at one point she couldn’t be sure who was devouring whom. It didn't matter. They’d always been evenly matched. When he caught her lower lip between his teeth in a surprisingly smooth move, she mewled in aroused delight at the realisation that Jack had decided prowess in the art of kissing. When she, in turn, sucked his tongue into her eager mouth in response, he growled low in his chest; it was her undoing.

She needed for him to be wearing far less layers. Preferably as soon as possible.

She set about pulling his silk tie free from his waistcoat and started moving backwards, guiding his body, taking the lead until her back hit the wall beside the large fireplace. Even though they were now a wall’s breadth away from the other occupants of the hotel, the mantel was wide enough to shield them from anyone looking in through the side-door.

Jack wasted no time pinning her to the wall. A part of her wondered what had happened to her restrained Detective Inspector, but a much larger part was more excited to see a Jack Robinson unleashed and unrestrained in his ardour.

A hand cupped her buttock through her dress, his thumb digging into her soft flesh, creating a swirling motion, inching closer and closer to her dripping core. He was a goddamn tease, as evidenced by his deliberate stroking of the silk below her breast. Her nipples strained against the olive fabric of her dress, a blatant signal of her arousal, yet he continued to refuse her satisfaction of moulding his palm over her breast, or squeezing the supple mound, or pinching her nipple.

She whimpered and he finally acquiesced. She ground her pelvis against his as he flicked her nipple through the silk of her gown. She moaned louder than she’d intended and he pinched her derrière, biting his lip to stifle his own groan as she kept squirming her hips against his, seeking some sort of relief, hoping to find it in the bulge that was now evident at the front of his trousers.

She pulled his head to hers, kissed him soundly, and was about to spear her tongue into his mouth to show him _exactly_ what she desired, when the clatter of a shattering plate in the dining room next door startled them. Their lips parted with a slight ‘pop,’ his bottom lip still wedged between her teeth, until he took a step back. Phryne noted with great satisfaction that Jack appeared to be completely out of breath. He looked absolutely and thoroughly ravished, a look that she instantly approved of. Her lipstick was all over his face, and she grinned at her own foolish need to mark him all over.

 _Oh_. How she longed to mark him _all over_.

The commotion on the other side of the wall made them realise they were still in a very public place, and although Phryne may or may not have been caught in _flagrante delicto_ once or twice in the past, she was fairly certain Jack would not appreciate a similar experience.

“I have a lovely whiskey waiting in my parlour. Won’t you join me, Inspector?” she panted, attempting to smooth her hair into some semblance of her resplendent bob-cut.

“We _are_ in a hotel, Miss Fisher,” he stated huskily, his eyes never leaving hers, his chest still  heaving.

Her eyes widened in astonishment, overjoyed at his unexpected and daring implication.

They put themselves to rights as best as they could. Mischief and mirth danced in Phryne’s eyes as she pulled Jack out of the ballroom, unnoticed, before darting up the hotel stairs.

He really _was_ full of surprises.

 

***

 

Jack barely had time to take in his surroundings - a room very similar to the one the Baron had stayed in - before Phryne all but dragged him into the room by his tie. He quickly kicked the door shut behind them. She had him pressed up against it before he’d even lowered his foot.

He normally would have been opposed to her breaking into an unoccupied room on the hotel’s quiet second floor, but he found he was currently having a hard time denying her anything.

He had no idea where she’d stashed her lockpicks, and he quite rightfully did not care. Before he could begin to form several theories - each one more debauched than the next - her lips were on his, impatiently prying his lips open to sweep the roof of his mouth with her tongue. Her hands, meanwhile, were pushing insistently at his shoulders and it took him a moment to realise she was attempting to divest him of his jacket.

As it fell to the floor in a crumpled heap, she began attacking the buttons of his waistcoat. He started moving them further into the room until the backs of her knees hit the bed. He grabbed hold of the slippery satin of her gown and rucked it up to her waist, exposing deliciously creamy thighs and lace garters to his hungry gaze.

“Jack,” she began, getting distracted by him sucking on the sensitive skin of her throat, his teeth scraping across her pulse point. “Jack.” She pushed against his chest and he straightened, pupils blown wide and hair in complete disarray, his waistcoat unbuttoned, collar undone… _And where was his tie?_ The tented fabric at the front of his trousers looked very promising and she licked her lips.

“Clothes, Jack. Take them off.”

He could only nod numbly as he took in what had to be quite the dishevelled sight she made. It took another blink of an eye and there was a flurry of clothing, interspersed with even more frenzied kisses and caresses as she took off her brassiere and he discarded his pants. His formerly crisp, white shirt joined her green silk dress as he tossed it in the general direction of the armchair, this act of rebellion a far cry from his usual fastidious nature.

She had just placed her gold fascinator on the nightstand, deliberately bending over slightly; an almost feral growl was her only warning before she felt two strong arms wrapping around her waist. Phryne suddenly found herself flat on her back, on top of the covers in the middle of the bed, still bouncing on the mattress when her attention was drawn to Jack, naked and currently crawling on top of her.

“Jack Robinson!” she exclaimed in mock outrage at his rough handling of her person, but all thoughts of retribution fled from her mind when he kissed her, hard, his tongue desperately thrusting into her mouth in a mimicry of lovemaking that was so vivid, she was soon thrashing and moaning beneath him.

His warm and slightly calloused hands moved over her body as if trying to memorise every part of her by touch, as though her skin held hidden secrets, written in braille, and he could only uncover them by reading them with his palms. Now that the dam had broken, he felt no need to hold back any longer. It was as if he were frantically trying to learn as much about her as possible, as if by osmosis.

His enthusiasm was an aphrodisiac all of its own.

She spurred him on with breathy gasps and throaty moans, then mewled when a long, lone finger made its way between her legs, testing her slickness. He groaned at finding her so ready for him. She willingly parted her legs, allowing him better access to rub his finger up and down her cleft, coating her sex and his hand in her moisture.

She was positively vibrating with pent up desire; she groaned long and low when he pushed his finger inside her, feeling her inner walls for the first time. He alternated between dipping his finger inside of her and spreading her essence to the point that her clitoris was so slippery, he was having difficulty rubbing it.

She vowed the next time, she'd touch him, please him, take him in her mouth. But a year of foreplay had done away with her patience, of which she had precious little to begin with.

“ _Ngh_ … Jack. I need you,” she panted, _more_ than ready for him.

“You have me, Phryne,” he whispered, dipping his finger inside her again, emphasizing his point.

She shook her head and pulled his hand from her slick quim.

“ _All of you_ , Jack. _Now_.”

He moved to sit back on his knees and stroked his throbbing erection once, twice. The mere sight of his large hand caressing his aroused desire was almost enough to make her orgasm then and there, before he moved over her, pressing his chest to hers and bending her knees.

“ _Phryne,_ ” his voice strained, as he rested his head on her shoulder. She bucked her hips against his, forcing his cockhead between her folds, coating him in her wetness. He moaned when his tip inadvertently slid just inside her depths. His entire body trembled with the effort of restraining himself. ~~~~

“ _Gods_. Phryne, please tell me you have a French letter hidden somewhere on your person because--”

“It’s taken care of, Jack. Now... please... I want you to come inside me,” she urged him on.

Phryne Fisher did not beg, not for anyone, but evidently Jack Robinson was the exception to yet another one of her rules.

Instead of moving and _getting on with it_ , he stilled. She gazed at him, noticing how his brow furrowed in confusion. He had a trace of amusement and hope in his deep cerulean eyes that caused her heart to skip a beat.

“I’ve always had high hopes for you, Inspector,” she smiled, and the lopsided grin he gave her in return made her belly sumersault.

He raised himself up on one elbow and grabbed his cock, positioning it so the tip was wedged between her nether lips. He rubbed himself slowly, torturously along her slit, occasionally nudging against her clit until she thought she was about to go mad from wanting.

“Jaaack,” she moaned in frustrated arousal. “Please… No more teasing.”

“Look who’s talki-- oh, _fuck_!” The last word ended in a deep, low groan as she took hold of his cock and guided him inside her. She arched her back as he entered, his girth stretching her walls as her body adjusted to the intrusion of his engorged length.

Well… It _had_ been a while.

His coarse chest hairs provided a wonderful friction for her sensitised nipples and she rubbed against him, wanting more of that glorious feeling.

It took him a few shallow thrusts before he was fully seated, sheathed as far as he could go. He wasn’t the biggest man she’d ever had, but he was deliciously thick and slightly curved. When he started to move, his cockhead hit that golden spot inside of her that had her keening, forcing her to spread her thighs even wider as she wrapped her legs around his waist. The curve of his cock pressed against the front of her walls and the feeling was simultaneously exquisite and almost unbearable.

She was positively clawing at his back, sure she was leaving marks, but it ceased to matter. She was his now, for as long as he would have her. They were finally joined in this moment, in the most primal of dances. The rhythm of their hips slapping together filled the room as it mingled with the scent of sex - heady and addictive - the drumming of her heartbeat against her ribcage drowning out most sounds.

But not every sound. She was very much aware of his laboured breathing, his low grunts and his surprising usage of a very colourful vocabulary that she’d never heard him use before. He was praising, cursing, panting obscene promises in her ear as droplets of sweat fell from his chest onto her breasts. If anything, his positively filthy thoughts spurred her on even more, causing her to move furiously against him. In the meantime, she decided to store all of his creative ideas away to discuss at a later time.

She had every intention of keeping him to every single promise he’d made.

She briefly opened her eyes to glance up and was mesmerised by the look of utter concentration and dedication on his face. His eyes were tightly shut while he maintained a relentless pace, thrusting his hips as though his very life depended on it, rattling the bed and no doubt alerting unsuspecting neighbours to their activities.

She didn't care in the least. All she cared about was _this_ ; Jack, naked and between her thighs, so devoted to all of her - to _them_ \- on the brink of losing control and looking so damn beautiful, it was utterly unfair.

When he changed his angle by grabbing one of her legs and pulling it over his shoulder, it provided a constant friction on her clit with each and every thrust. She was hovering on the brink, unsure how much longer she could last. Looking down the length of her body, the angry red flush of his cock disappearing inside of her made her cunt tighten sharply, tightly grasping his length with every stroke.

He hissed, opening his eyes to stare into hers in surprise, and aroused delight, then growled huskily when she did it again.

Every muscle, every fibre of his being was put to work for their mutual pleasure as he fucked her into oblivion. All of a sudden she could feel the dam burst and she came, a hoarse cry wrenched from her throat. As her body shuddered violently around him, her muscles clenching and clamping down on his rigid cock, he came with an almost anguished shout that could have been her name. Any control he had was wrested from him as he lost himself inside her, his hips stuttering uncontrollably against hers as he rode out the final spasms of his climax, leaving him boneless to slump against her. ~~~~

***

 

When she opened her eyes, he was still inside her, his torso covering her upper body. He was still breathing heavily from the exertion, his face buried in the crook of her neck, sticking to it like her hair to her skin.

“Jack?” She gently poked his shoulder good-naturedly.

“Hmfph?” he croaked, his voice muffled against her throat.

She laughed at his eloquence (or rather the lack thereof), the movement causing her ribcage to expand and her breasts to push even more firmly against his chest. She languidly stroked her fingers through his unruly waves, now freed from their usual restraint.

“Oh, I’m sorry, here, let me just--” he sputtered in a raspy voice; as he thought he might be crushing her, he made to move off her.

“Don’t.” She stopped him by crossing her ankles behind his firm arse, keeping him inside of her even as his cock began to soften.

He looked down at her in amazement, and she assumed her smirk had to be very similar to his.

“Slow and close, Miss Fisher?”

“Mmm. Just so, Inspector. Just so.”

He leaned down to kiss her, a mere brush, a soft caress against her lips. It was almost weightless, yet she recognized its value, the preciousness and the importance of his small gesture. She stroked his sharp cheekbone in reverence when they parted. The joy in his eyes made her heart clench, and the sight of his blush when he slipped out of her with a wet sound was strangely endearing.

He moved slightly to the side, so half of his lean upper body was still covering hers but their legs were no longer entangled. His stubble was slightly scratchy against the soft skin of her damp breast. As she began caressing his broad shoulders and back in nonsensical patterns and trailed soft touches along his spine, goosebumps erupted all over his skin. Moments later she could feel the beginnings of his renewed arousal against her thigh.

_So soon, Inspector?_

“Jack? Perhaps next time, we could try something else…” she murmured into his hair as she breathed in his scent; sweat, sex, a faint trace of pomade and Jack.

He propped himself up on his elbows, immediately suspicious of whatever nefarious plot was afoot this time. A playful glint danced across his eyes.

He knew her so well.

She loved him for it.

“Whatever did you have in mind, Miss Fisher?” he asked. ~~~~

She noticed, with glee, that his eyes fell to her bare breasts almost instantaneously after raising himself up. Bringing up her hands, she cupped both mounds for their mutual benefit. He groaned something that sounded remarkably like ‘impossible succubus’ before lowering his head to her breast, batting her hands away so he could take over.

“I don’t know… a tango, perchance?” she suggested in a breathy voice, threading her fingers through his thick hair again. She was about to lose track of the conversation when he started licking and kissing her left breast, circling the neglected right nipple with his thumb.

“I see,” he murmured against her breast, squeezing its twin with his deft hand before pulling a nipple into his mouth and _sucking_ , earning him a deep, satisfied moan. “Are there any necessary steps I would have to rehearse beforehand, Miss Fisher?” he asked her as he abandoned her breasts to place kisses on her sternum, her belly button, her abdomen…

He nuzzled her pubic hair, then moved lower still.

“ _Mmm_ ,” she moaned in approval of this development. “I believe you'll find I'm a grand supporter of improvisation, Inspector,” she ground out as he found a particularly sensitive spot on the inside of her thigh and laved it with his hot, moist tongue. “Although I do believe we may require a lot of... _repeat performances_.”

She sighed in utter delight as she pushed his head down between her thighs.

A gasp escaped her when he spread her wide open before him with his thumbs.

“I’ll try to stay in step all the same, Miss Fisher,” he said before lowering his mouth to her cunt.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I did not abandon Compromising fic! Right now I just can’t deal with the drama going on in that story. I will get back to it when I’m in a better place, mentally. Until then; enjoy the nonsensical smuttage.


End file.
